


blue noise

by millehuitcent



Category: One Piece
Genre: Light Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-25
Updated: 2021-02-25
Packaged: 2021-03-16 18:13:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29704563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/millehuitcent/pseuds/millehuitcent
Summary: Buggy and Shanks on a tiny ship, on their way to nowhere.
Relationships: Akagami no Shanks | Red-Haired Shanks/Buggy
Comments: 2
Kudos: 21





	blue noise

**Author's Note:**

> recently I found my first-ever (unfinished) Buggy/Shanks fanfic in an old flashdrive, dated 2013. so it is quite the understatement to say that me writing and publishing for this ship is way overdue. since then they got so much more backstory! this is my humble contribution to it. hope you like it!
> 
> also, warning: Shanks and Buggy are 15 in this, and some kissing happens.

It has been many months, yet Buggy still isn’t used to it.

It’s the silence that wakes him - not that it’s ever truly silent on a ship. Especially not one so small as theirs. The wood creaks and crackles, the ropes whine and groan, the sea murmurs and the wind howls. A ship’s silence is like a waterfall’s: never still nor quiet - peaceful at best.

Tonight is as peaceful as it ever gets on the Grand Line, sea dark and smooth as an obsidian blade. Light breeze, clear skies. East Blue weather, Roger would call it.

Buggy sits at the prow of the ship, legs dangling on either side of the stempost. Maybe he’ll go to East Blue, when this is all over, he thinks idly. He’s never been to East Blue. He’s sailed to so many places already, seen enough to last him a lifetime - sometimes it’s hard to believe that there is still a whole world out there, just beyond the Calm Belt. 

The hull creaks. The main sail flaps in the wind. Buggy grimaces.

They’re sailing against the breeze. It always feels like they’re sailing against the breeze, these days. It shouldn’t matter, it's not like they’re in any hurry to get to the next island. Down below in the cabin lies a heap of maps, pointing at treasure or adventure or both - but they’re not following any of them. They’re headed to nowhere. Have been for weeks.

The stars’ reflection wobbles on the water under Buggy’s feet. Maybe he will go to East Blue; but probably not. He can’t imagine this ever being over.

A wave comes crashing against the ship, making it groan and sway like a drunk at closing time. Maybe the night would be peaceful, if they were sailing with the breeze for once.

Buggy has not had a peaceful night since he left the Oro Jackson. Big ships are different. On big ships, the noise settles like old dust. The chatter between wood and wind hides in nooks and crevices. Buggy would look for it at night with open ears, would try to eavesdrop on their age-old conversation.

He never knew how itchy the night could feel. How the noise would come looking for _him_ instead, like an accusatory finger pointed at him; how it would bounce around like a third crewmate. There’s no room at all for a third crewmate on the Shellac Cindy. It’s just perfect for two sailors; that’s what Rayleigh said when they bought it. And Rayleigh is always right.

 _Was_ always right. Wasn’t he? Buggy is not so sure anymore. It has been many months after all, and the newspaper articles keep getting more and more confusing.

Maybe Rayleigh had simply not known about a tiny ship’s noises. Maybe he’d never been on a tiny ship at all. Like Roger, Rayleigh had always been larger-than-life. And even if he had been on a tiny ship, once - Buggy does remember Roger’s tales of their journey’s start on Rayleigh’s stolen ship - then _that_ tiny ship was bigger than the Shellac Cindy, for sure. After all, the Shellac Cindy is the tiniest ship Buggy’s ever seen. Well - except maybe for those pictures in Noland’s Encyclopedia, of pointy-nosed warriors sailing around in walnut shells.

Sometimes, that’s how it feels to Buggy, Shanks and him and the noise all crowded together on a walnut shell in the middle of the sea. The sea never used to feel so lonely. Never used to feel so big and heartless. But Buggy knows the sea hasn’t changed; he’s the one who has.

Shanks has changed too. Buggy can tell, even if he still fills the night’s silence just the same way he did back on the Oro Jackson, when the sea felt warm. His snoring hasn’t gotten any better, or any worse. Shanks still laughs with his eyes squinted to the sun, red hair falling into his face, still swings his sword around carelessly like Buggy isn’t literally _right there, for fuck’s sake, I’ll kill you if you make me fall into the water again_. He still brawls with him until they’re sweaty and can’t remember who started it. That’s another thing that is still the same - it’s always Shanks who starts it.

When the ship’s busy, wound-up silence wakes him up at night, Buggy listens to Shanks snoring. He lays flat on his back, unmoving even though all his limbs tingle with the restless urge to fly right off; staring straight at the cabin’s low ceiling even though he’d like to turn to Shanks. He can’t. He doesn’t want to see how Shanks’ face looks older in the moonlight. It used to make Buggy blush and hide his face in his hands, the way Shanks looked growing out of his teen years, his newly-deep voice, his broad shoulders, the confident way he held himself.

Buggy doesn’t blush at Shanks anymore - mostly. You can get used to anything, Buggy reasons. Even to the prickly, tingly, itchy feeling in his stomach when Shanks takes his shirt off. Even to the Shellac Cindy’s noisy silence - Buggy’ll get there any night, now, surely. He’s too great to be bugged by something as stupid, as vague as just - silence.

The wind howls. The deck wood creaks. Buggy’s Haki prickles in warning.

“Did I wake you up?” Buggy suddenly asks. Shanks is standing at his back, trying to creep on him like Buggy hasn’t felt him wake up ten minutes ago. Shanks startles and Buggy smirks.

“S’fine,” Shanks grunts. “I wasn’t even asleep.”

“You were snoring.”

“I don’t snore!”

“Yes you do!”

Shanks pouts like he does when he’s trying to stay cool and collected like a captain would, but can’t quite believe he’s not rising to the bait. “Come back to bed,” he says instead.

Short and to the point - that’s a new one. Not too bad, for once. Shanks had been experimenting with negotiations techniques, and without anyone but Buggy around to experimentally sweet-talk, they had been having a lot of very frustrating, very convoluted conversations.

“My turn on the watch,” Buggy mutters. They both know he’s lying. That’s not going to stop him from doubling down on it. “You should’ve woken me up when you went to bed.”

“You looked like you needed the sleep.”

Buggy scoffs. “You sayin’ that I’m weak?”

Shanks rolls his eyes. Probably. It’s not like Buggy can see him. “I’m saying you looked like you needed the sleep. Plus, you can keep watch just fine from bed. Your Haki would feel anything funky coming our way.”

“Damn right. My Haki’s immaculate. Even when I’m sleeping.” Satisfied, he turns back to where the waves break open for their dignified walnut shell of a ship.

Shanks huffs out a laugh. Buggy expects him to turn back. Maybe feeling Shanks settle back in the cabin will make him sleepy enough. Maybe feeling the peace and trust radiating from him like warmth off the deck on a summer evening will finally draw him back to bed.

Shanks does none of that, though, and Buggy startles when he feels him drop down and lean against his back.

“And what are you doing, now?”

“Keeping watch.”

“I told you it’s my turn!”

“The rear isn’t going to watch itself, is it.”

“Have you seen the size of this ship? We don’t need two-people watch.”

“But what _if_ we get attacked by a sea king with a maw full of teeth on the front _and_ a spiked tail at the back-”

“Those don’t exist!”

“They do!”

“Says who?”

“I’ve seen pictures in books.”

 _Books_ probably means _Rayleigh’s books_. And they don’t speak about that. There’s a beat of silence. The hull creaks again. “Stupid,” Buggy mutters. “This won’t happen. Sea’s calm tonight. If you want adventure, you’ll have to dream it up. While _sleeping_ ,” he adds meaningfully.

“Then we could take a break from watch and go for a cup of tea. Since the sea’s so calm.”

“No. Also, you’re not on watch. I am.”

“We’re both on watch,” Shanks says, and wiggles a little until he’s settled more comfortably against Buggy’s back.

The waves crash against the bow of the ship. A rope shifts with a low whine.

Of course, Shanks can’t stay silent for very long. “Back on the Oro Jackson,” he suddenly says.

Buggy tenses. Shanks must feel it, but Buggy doesn’t care. What does Shanks think he is doing? They don’t speak about _that_. Buggy doesn’t think about _that_. It’s pointless - it’ll only lead to headaches, and it’s not like they have a ship doctor. Or it’ll lead to heartache, and they have no room for that at all on such a tiny ship, with Shanks and himself and the noise and all. So.

A big wave crashes against the ship’s bow. Shanks has never cared about rules anyways. He starts again: “Back on the Oro Jackson -” Buggy grimaces, closes his eyes - “I used to love walking back to the cabin after watch. Everyone asleep, everyone safe. And the way the ship sounded without the noises of the day. It felt heavy. Felt like a blanket.”

Buggy can see it just fine behind closed eyelids. The ladder down from the crow’s nest, his footsteps on the deck and then down the corridors. The familiar sounds of sleeping crewmates, sometimes the hush of conversation in Roger or Rayleigh’s cabins, the odd abandoned candle glowing in a corner.

“You don’t have to tell me everything that goes through your head,” Buggy forces through gritted teeth.

“Who else would I tell it to?” Shanks retorts, sounding like Buggy’s just said something incredibly stupid. “Anyways. I hope I still get to be on watch when I’m captain, sometimes. What’s a captain for, if not to keep his crewmates safe?”

“Shut up!” Buggy, drawing his legs to his chest suddenly and closing his arms protectively around them. He hates it when Shanks starts going on about the future. What good can it do to dream it all up? They’re headed nowhere.

At least he only ever speaks for himself anymore. He used to always speak of the future in we’s. In us’s. _When we’re captains_ , Shanks used to say - but Buggy knew better. There can’t be two captains on a ship. Even Rayleigh was Roger’s first mate.

Surprisingly, Shanks does shut up.

The hull creaks. The sea mutters in its secret language. Buggy wonders idly what the sea must be thinking of them. Of him. It’s probably too big to see their tiny boat, which is a comfort. Buggy’s too flashy for the sea to see him like this, drawn up in a ball, lonely and anxious on a creaky nutshell of a boat. The sail flaps. Two ropes groan against each other.

Buggy loosens his pose slowly, straightens his back. That’s right. He’s too flashy to be seen like that. Even if it’s just Shanks. “I hate the silence,” he grunts.

Shanks hums. “I can keep talking, if you want.”

“That’s not what I said.”

Weirdly enough, that makes Shanks chuckle, then all of a sudden there is a hand on top of Buggy’s, warm and broad. The hull might creak again but Buggy doesn’t hear it anymore over the sound of his heart beating at his temples as his face heats up.

Buggy makes an exception, for once, and he turns to look at Shanks in the moonlight. The laugh lines are starting to solidify around his eyes. His face is calmer; he pauses more before talking. He doesn’t quite look like a proper captain - but close. And whatever Shanks may say with his infuriatingly trusting smile, pirate captains have no friends. Allies, at most.

Buggy clears his throat awkwardly. “Let’s go get some tea, should we?”

“Hey, I asked first and you said no!”

“I changed my mind!”

Buggy tugs at Shanks’ hand until he gets up and in five footsteps they are down the ladder and in the kitchen. Down there the wood creaks deeper, more menacingly. So is the price of tea, Buggy wonders as he puts water on and takes out the teapot with his right hand. His left sits on the table, next to Shanks who is lighting up the lantern. The flame flares then settles, and Shanks leans back into his seat and takes Buggy’s hand back in his. His thumb rubs the back of Buggy’s hand mindlessly. The water purrs as it starts to boil. They never held hands on the Oro Jackson. The crew would have given them too much shit for it.

Buggy pours the water in the teapot and brings it over. He has to brush a pile of newspapers off the bench before he can sit. He doesn’t bother looking at them. He hates it, that they receive quite so many of the newspapers, hates the smell of them, like ink and the fish that the News Coo birds eat. Hates most of all the way they never say what he’d like to read - and still, they read them every day.

Buggy has to take his hand out of Shanks’ to pour the tea. Above Shanks’ head, the porthole trembles under the wind. Buggy’s mouth tightens at the noise.

“I get what you mean, though,” Shanks says apropos absolutely nothing.

“What?” Buggy asks rudely.

“About the silence. I’m starting to get tired of it as well. We need to get off this boat. It’s too cramped up in there.” How he got that from one backhanded remark, Buggy has no idea. But he’s right. Not that he’s going to tell him. “Y’know what we need?”

“To steal some treasure so we can buy a bigger boat?”

“No.” Shanks pouts.

Buggy raises his cup to his mouth and burns himself trying to take a sip. He winces “To steal a bigger boat, then.”

“No! We need to get to an island! Some adventure will do us good! I haven’t trained with my sword in _ages_.” Shanks sends Buggy a mildly reproachful look.

“ _This_ again? And here I thought you were saying something smart for once…”

“But Buggy!” Shanks whines. “I don’t see what’s the harm in training on the deck! It’s not like I’m going to cut through you…”

“I’ll have you know that having to chop up my whole body every time I get up onto the deck is _very_ stressful! And even if you don’t cut me - you’ll cut the boat in half and then I'll die just the same!”

Shanks chuckles. “Now, this is quite dramatic. Take it easy - I wouldn’t let you die.”

“I’m not dramatic! You’re dramatic!”

“You’re the one who thinks I could cut through the whole boat. That's pretty flattering,” Shanks adds, wiggling his eyebrows.

“Don’t play humble with me, you bastard. You totally could.”

Shanks hides his smile behind his steaming cup. “That’s true.” And then, he sets the cup back on the table. “Anyways. We should totally head to Laugh Tale.”

Buggy’s head pops out of his neck so fast he nearly encases it in the ceiling. “What?” He shrieks.

“What _what_?”

“ _Laugh Tale_?” Buggy manages to get control of his scattered limbs, deciding to let them all hover menacingly for effect. But his breathing is still ragged from the shock.

“What about it? At least there we’d get adventure, guaranteed.”

“No way.”

“Why?”

Buggy swallows. He looks down at his teacup, carved in rough sandstone that matches the teapot. They stole the whole set from the most boring (and also only) wedding reception they’d ever attended, on Marriage Island. Shanks is getting the cups and the teapot, when this is all over, Buggy has already decided. It’s not like the worthless stoneware is going to matter to him when he drinks out of cups made of gold-engraved porcelain so fine it’s translucid. Shanks would probably like to have them, sentimental fool that he is.

“C’mon, why?” Shanks prods. “We said we would go, didn’t we?”

Buggy looks up at Shanks’ excited eyes with the tired dark circles under, and suddenly thinks that he doesn’t want Shanks to take the cups.

Buggy doesn’t want either of them to have them. He wants to throw the whole thing to the floor, to hear it break, to throw it overboard to the endless sea that feels like it’ll never be warm again, like all this will never be over.

He wants to tell Shanks he’s going back on his promise, that he never meant it, that it was all a joke at Shanks’ expense. He wants Shanks to get mad at him, to say he’s not speaking to him if he’s going to be like that, then he can go back updeck to sulk unbothered -

He hates the tiny boat and the long, long wait. Trying to read the future in newspapers like they’re tea leaves. Why does Buggy even bother?

“I don’t want to go, is all. It’s too - far away.”

What comes after the last island? Well, Roger knows, and the rest of the crew too. Buggy - he’s never been there, but he can guess. He’s seen it; _goodbyes_ is what comes after the last island. That’s what happened to Roger. That’s what’ll happen when they go.

That’s what’ll happen even if they don’t go.

The hull creaks.

Buggy can’t stand the waiting. He also doesn’t want it to stop. He can feel himself basking in it, in the uncomfortable tightness of the ship, in Shanks’ face older on the pillow at night when he can’t sleep, in his worried glances during the day. It’s not what Buggy wants, but Buggy’s greedy, he’ll take anything can get. He’ll burn his lips trying to drink tea that’s too hot still.

He’ll lean across the bench and kiss Shanks on the mouth, even though he’d really like to tell him off and be mad at him.

“Hey -” Shanks starts, but then he is kissing back, like he always does, melts into Buggy.

“Be careful,” Buggy mutters as Shanks’ hand knocks against his cup. “Don’t break the cups.”

“Don’t change the topic,” Shanks says, but it’s half-hearted. Already, he’s looking more interested at staring at Buggy’s mouth, at putting his hand flat on Buggy’s ribs. Shanks isn’t greedy like Buggy, but he’s always up for an adventure, and there aren’t so many of them to be found on the Shellac Cindy.

“I’ll change the topic if I want to,” and Shanks seems to consider that’s fair enough, because he kisses him again, and Buggy is glad for it. He gets closer, up on his knees so that he can straddle Shanks’ lap and - that’s it. This way, as close as they can get, like a river meeting the sea, not knowing when one ends and the other begins, there is no room for the heavy silence. This way, it’s only their breaths and Shanks’ huff of laughter when Buggy’s hands turn up unexpectedly at the close of his trousers, then his low moan.

Buggy closes his eyes and listens to the silence of Shanks right up against him.

**Author's Note:**

> Shellac is a kind of plastic that is often a yellow-cheap-gold color. I thought it'd make a good parallel to the Oro part of Oro Jackson :^)
> 
> I have one more fic in the works for these two and I hope I can find the time and the courage to edit and publish it in the coming days..... so, stay tuned. and have a great day!
> 
> my tumblr is [@pinkcolumbo](pinkcolumbo.tumblr.com)


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